


Equivalent Trade

by tokyofish



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluffy, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-13
Updated: 2004-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1947480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyofish/pseuds/tokyofish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first series went off the rails and apparently so did I. And of course it's "equivalent exchange" but remember this was written back in the stone age and be gentle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equivalent Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Fullmetal Alchemist is not mine. This is a nonprofit fanwork.

It had been a very long time since she had seen him at a funeral, and any memories she had of him could only be seen through the remembered blur of tears. Her eyes were dry now, her mouth set in a tight line, as she looked at him from some remote corner deep within herself. His face had the paleness of someone still too ill to be out of bed and he looked as though years had been leeched out of his life. Funny, despite everything, he had always seemed so young.

"Insufferable, arrogant, smug, so damned self-righteous!"

But young all the same.

Now he looked at her in a way that seemed to reflect the sorrow she could not feel and laid a bouquet of white lilies on the coffin. "I am sorry for your loss."

There were so many layers to those words - so many. He was speaking to the man standing beside her but he was looking straight at her and there was something in the way he said it.

Something. A hundred thousand somethings.

Apology? Regret? Self-recrimination? Guilt?

Perhaps it was just pain.

I'm sorry. I can never be sorry enough. I'm sorry I couldn't - wasn't strong enough to - save them. Any of them. I can never ask for forgiveness, from you or from them.

A woman's white gloved hand touched his arm and he turned, moving forward and away out of her line of sight, the woman turning and murmuring some incomprehensible words of comfort; her expression was drawn tight with pain as she laid down a small yellow bouquet. She brushed the dark mahogany of the coffin for an instant with her fingertips then moved on, her hand still threaded around the man's arm. Reaching up, she smoothed his forehead, and said something about "what would he say if he saw you now" and he grabbed her hand between his own and held it tight. She tried to smile, faltered, then said, looking down, "He'd laugh, you know."

"Damn straight." She turned her eyes from the two of them; his voice had cracked tellingly and she did not want to have to think any more than absolutely necessary. She didn't want to have to give faces to names and hearts to faces. It just made everything too hard.

The crowd of people moved past, an indistinct swarm of faces and voices, leaving brightly colored bouquets across the coffin. Some spoke, voices choked with tears, others said nothing and said all the more for it. She preferred the voices - at least those she could safely ignore.

Her mind's eye was still fixed on the image of that white-gloved hand clasped around that blue-sleeved arm. Not for support but to give support.

Ah, her brain said from far away. There was nothing after that - just the acknowledgment of a revelation without any thought to follow.

It was an eternity later when the coffin was lowered into the ground and she thought for a melodramatic moment what it would feel like to throw herself in after it - to be buried alive in the same earth that housed his bones. But, she thought, his essence had already fled. It was too late to bring him back.

The earth flowed into the hole and soon there was nothing but a mound of dirt.

A tall figure stepped forward, traced a symbol in the soil with his fingertip, then placed his outstretched palm on it. There was a burst of light and the dirt was smooth, ready for a stone and grass to cover it.

"Thank you all for coming," the man said, turning to look at the gathering. His eyes were wet. "My brother would have appreciated it."

* * *

She was still standing there after everyone had dispersed and there was no one to keep her company but some early night larks in a distant tree and the touch of the cold breeze.

He stepped up behind her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's enough."

She turned with a wordless cry and buried her face in his chest.

"He was very stubborn, wasn't he?" he said in a tight voice, his hands gripping her shoulders, his face looking up at the sky. "Right up to the end. I wouldn't have minded giving up my body to make him whole, but it never once occurred to me that he was thinking the same thing. I should have known!"

"Don't-"

"But he was desperate. He wasn't thinking. My brother knew he was going to die, that his body couldn't last for another instant. It was the same . . . the same as that other time. He drew another array over the one in the armor with his own blood and with the last of the Philosopher's Stone's power . . . It shouldn't have been him! It should have been me!"

"No, Al, no," she whispered, tears dripping down her cheeks. "He would've wanted it like this. Don't ever think that it was your fault! Ed always found a way to do everything the way he wanted. He always . . ."

"I'm sorry, Winry. I know you'd rather-"

"No." She smiled painfully, her face wet, and wiped at his equally wet cheeks. "Don't be. You did everything you could to save him, just like he did everything he could to save you. That’s because he loved you, and I know this because I love both of you."

He took her hand in his before turning and saying to the grave, “Brother, Winry and I are going to keep living as best we can. Please look after us well."

They both swallowed then Al ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "You feel cold."

"And you," she said, with a real start at a smile this time, "you feel warm, Al."

"Do I?" he said in astonishment. For the first time he seemed to feel the touch of the breeze, the current of the air, the feeling of her skin between his fingers. Silently, he thanked his brother again for all that he had given him.

* * *

"Edward Elric! If you break another piece of equipment I'm going to-"

CRASH!

"EDWARD ELRIC!"

There was a scritching noise and a smell like thunder and a small defiant voice saying, "How's that?!"

"That's . . . not bad."

"Okay! I'm going out to play now!"

"Don't slam the-"

BANG!

"-door."

Winry turned to her husband, hands on her hips. "And what are YOU laughing at?"

"The expression on your face just now."

"He drew an array with sawdust and I didn't even know he could DO THAT to begin with! Have you been teaching him on the sly, Alphonse Elric?!"

"He can’t help it being in the blood. You shouldn’t mind it."

"I didn't say I minded," she grumbled, only a bit mollified as he began to massage her shoulders. "I was just surprised. He's so much like him it scares me a little."

"Well," he smiled into her hair. "It's just equivalent trade coming into play. His body for mine . . . his life for mine . . . the soul had to go somewhere. It just took a little of God's time to make sure it turned out right. He doesn't have to resort to half-measures like the rest of us."

"Hmmmph," she snorted. "That’s a very satisfying way of explaining things. Not romantic at all!"

"I think it is," he said, kissing her ear. "Mothers are amazing. You're God's array."

"I'd rather be more than just an instrument, Alphonse Elric, even God's."

"Why don’t we be creators together then?"

She was finally unable to suppress her smile. "You are wicked, Alphonse Elric. You see, right now, I'm very busy working on this automail component-"

"But Ed just went out to play. And we can't let him give us something in return for nothing."

She laughed and turned to kiss him. "Equivalent trade?"

Their lips met. "That's right."


End file.
